


Classified

by loves_books



Category: The A-Team (2010), The A-Team - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-17
Updated: 2014-03-17
Packaged: 2018-01-16 03:27:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1330168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loves_books/pseuds/loves_books
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal takes care of Face after he returns from a classified mission with another team.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Classified

Hannibal isn’t there when Face gets back to base, despite all his best intentions to be standing at the gate waiting, ready to greet his boy after their long week apart. Instead, he’s stuck in a meeting, looking at long-term training plans, and he doesn’t get the news until Harrison’s team have already been back on base for nearly two hours.

Cursing silently, though he politely thanks the young Private who brings him the news, he marches straight through the base in the direction of the medical tents. Two hours back and the team are probably already through with their initial debriefings, onto the medical check-ups, and Hannibal was told there had been no injuries.

No injuries is good. Very good indeed, especially when it’s his boy out there on a mission, without Hannibal by his side.

He doesn’t make it all the way to medical, though, before he spots a familiar figure walking slowly through the tents towards him, and something in his chest loosens at the sight. Face clearly sees Hannibal at the very same instant and veers towards him. They can’t embrace, not here and now, but they exchange wide smiles, and nods of greeting. They fall into step effortlessly, turning at the same time to start heading towards the tent they share, on the outskirts of the base. A more private area, with fewer prying eyes.

“All in one piece?” It’s the first thing Hannibal asks, even as his eyes are carefully checking out his lover. About the only thing he can ask really, given the classified nature of the mission Face has been out on. Need to know only. And Hannibal doesn’t need to know.

“Yeah, mostly.” Face’s voice is tired but happy, and Hannibal relaxes just a little more, even as he starts to take note of all the little signs that tell him it’s been a difficult mission. “I’m fine. Everyone is fine. Mission success.”

Hannibal gently changes the topic then, though he really wants to ask Face about everything he’s been doing, and they exchange mindless pleasantries as they walk, talking about the weather – unseasonably cold nights, recently – and about some of the things Face has missed on base. New recruits who just haven’t got a clue, a new chef in the mess tent who can work wonders, but the whole time he’s cataloguing all the things Face hasn’t said out loud.

Faint trace of a limp, Face favouring his right side just a fraction. Skin pale beneath his perpetual tan and, though dark sunglasses hide those bright blue eyes from Hannibal’s gaze, he’d put money on dark circles beneath his lover’s eyes. Not in uniform, of course, but Face’s cargo pants are filthy, his t-shirt stained with dirt and rust-coloured smudges which could be blood. Hannibal’s heart races at that thought, but Face is up and walking and has clearly been released by the medics. 

He comforts himself with the thought that he’ll be able to strip Face down to bare skin soon, and see for himself.

Nearly there now, nearly to the safety and privacy of their tent, and it’s just so incredibly good to have Face back by his side after the worry of the last week. Harrison’s team had needed a second sniper for a mission, and Face had eagerly volunteered, always keen for a new experience. Hannibal hadn’t been quite so keen to let his lover go – he hates it anytime his boy is out of his sight, though he knows deep down just how skilled the younger man really is – but he knew Harrison, knew his team. Face would be safe enough with them, or as safe as any of them could ever be, doing the jobs they do.

Solid, reliable, predictable. Harrison is a good man, though perhaps not the most creative of Alpha team leaders, and his men are the same, all decent guys. Hannibal had actually thought it might be good for the other team to have Face for a while – his Lieutenant is growing into a brilliant Ranger, quick-witted and great at improvising when necessary. He knows he can say that objectively as Face’s CO, as well as being head-over-heels in love with the kid.

Belatedly, Hannibal goes to take his boy’s bags from him, only to find there are none. Face must have already stowed his kit away after the mission, he realises; no rifle, no backpack. Yet another good sign that the trip to medical was procedure rather than necessity. But again, that’s something Hannibal can’t ask. Sometimes he really hates the fact that they work classified jobs. 

At last they reach their tent, and Hannibal lifts the flap to let Face walk through first, zipping it up tightly behind them. Finally, he can greet his lover properly, and he steps forward with his heart racing, carefully sweeping Face into his arms and kissing him tenderly.

Face’s lips are dry, chapped from the heat of the desert, but the kiss is just wonderful. Hannibal feels like he is literally drinking in his boy, though he makes sure he keeps his arms loose rather than clinging as he wants to, just until he can see what injuries might lurk beneath that dirty t-shirt. Face has no such concerns, though, arms tight around Hannibal’s waist as he leans forward into the older man’s body, kissing him back with everything he has.

As much as he could happily stand there and kiss his boy for hours, all too soon Face pulls back with a huge yawn, dropping his hands to rest on Hannibal’s hips. 

“Tired?” Hannibal asks with a smile, though he can guess the answer. 

Face laughs softly in response, yawning again before replying, “Oh yeah, just a bit.” 

With a smile, Hannibal reaches up and lifts the sunglasses from his lover’s face, revealing the dark circles and tired eyes he knew he would find. No visible bruises or scrapes though, which is a relief. No black eye, no stitches, and he runs his hands gently back through Face’s hair to check his head for injuries.

His boy just smiles, eyes slipping closed halfway, clearly knowing exactly what Hannibal is up to and more than willing to go along with it. Face has always craved physical contact, lighting up at every little touch, since long before the two of them actually became lovers.

“I’m fine,” Face breathes now, as Hannibal’s wandering fingers trail back to his cheeks, scraping gently over his week-old beard before drifting down his throat, edging towards the neckline of his t-shirt. 

“Let me?” Hannibal asks, though he doesn’t wait for the reply before reaching down and lifting the shirt up and away. Face lifts his arms willingly, letting himself be undressed. Perhaps he’s too tired to argue, but the colonel knows it’s more likely that Face needs this time together as much as he does. 

He throws the t-shirt to the floor of the tent, dropping his hands back immediately to Face’s shoulders as his boy yawns again. So much tension there, and he gives in to the urge to massage the tight muscles at the junction of shoulder and neck. He’s felt this kind of tension in his boy before, after Face has spent too many hours lying prone in the classic sniper position. It’s clearly been a long job, and his sniper skills must have been put to good use.

A tiny flinch crosses Face’s handsome features as Hannibal’s kneading fingers seek out the worst of the knots. More tension than he can be soothed away here and now, certainly, though once Face has slept a little Hannibal will do everything he can to get those tired and overworked muscles to relax. He can feel faint tremors running through the muscular body before him, and he frowns a little, hoping they are just from exhaustion and not anything worse.

Holding Face at arm’s length, Hannibal trails his eyes down that toned chest and flat stomach, noticing a few bruises and tiny scrapes but nothing too serious. Not until Face turns willingly in his grasp, though, and shows Hannibal his back. 

Hannibal sucks in a breath through his teeth at the sight. A nasty graze on his lover’s lower back, perhaps as much as ten inches long and nearly six wide at the worst point. The medics must have decided to leave it open to finish healing – it’s clearly several days old, mostly scabbed over by now, and he’s relieved to see there are no signs of infection present. Gravel burn, he thinks, recognising the distinctive pattern from long years of experience. 

As much as he wants to ask what on earth happened, he can’t. Or, he could ask, but Face couldn’t tell him, so Hannibal doesn’t waste his breath. Instead, he trails his fingertips around the edge of the damaged skin, hearing the sharp intake of breath when his calloused skin catches on the scrapes. “Sorry,” he whispers, dropping his head to press an apologetic kiss to his lover’s shoulder, feeling Face shrug in reply.

More bruises, a few more minor scratches. Hannibal takes note of them all as he moves his hands to Face’s waist, loosening the belt and tugging it free of the filthy cargo pants, tossing it to the floor to join the shirt. Face sighs softly as his pants are unzipped and lowered, though Hannibal leaves the boxer-briefs in place for now. 

Shaky hands land on his shoulders as he drops to his knees, deftly untying Face’s dusty boots and lifting his boy’s feet free one at a time, guiding those cargo pants all the way down and off. As he raises his eyes slightly, he sees the reason why Face was limping. A white elastic bandage wrapped tightly around his boy’s right knee, swelling and bruising visible both above and below the dressing.

He flicks a questioning gaze up, as Face strokes one hand into Hannibal’s hair. “Just twisted,” comes the reply to his unspoken question. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Hannibal shakes his head as he drops his gaze again, seeing the other cuts and scrapes on his boy’s long legs. A few more patches that could be gravel burn, more bruising though thankfully nothing deep. Nothing he wouldn’t expect from a week-long mission. He wishes he could ask what his boy has been through, but he can’t. He shakes himself again, burying his frustration in action. “Let me get your socks off.” 

A huffed laugh as Face takes a small step backwards, dropping heavily to sit on the cot before he lets Hannibal pull his socks off one at a time. “They’re gonna smell,” he whispers, eyes closed loosely in exhaustion, hands folded elegantly in his lap, and it’s Hannibal’s turn to laugh.

Of course they smell, but not badly. Certainly no worse than Hannibal’s feet will smell when he gets his own boots off soon – they’re in the desert, they sweat, no big deal. But Hannibal frowns anyway as he grasps his lover’s slender ankles gently, stroking open palms down the tops of Face’s feet and back up again. There are blisters visible, not large, but a few have clearly burst. “You’ve been doing a lot of walking,” he comments softly, neither expecting an answer nor receiving one.

Gently, slowly, carefully he pushes his lover to lie down on the cot. Wary of that nasty graze on Face’s back, he helps the younger man to curl up on his left side, pressing a warm kiss to Face’s forehead before pulling away. Quick as he can, he shrugs out of his own shirt, toeing off his boots and stepping out of his pants. Face doesn’t even open his eyes, though he manages a half-hearted protest as Hannibal lies down beside him.

“I need a shower, John.” Barely more than a breath, and Hannibal can tell it won’t be long before his boy is fast asleep. “Need to clean up a bit…”

“Later, Temp.” He settles his head on the pillow beside Face, close enough to see those long eyelashes fanned out on his lover’s cheeks. Leaning forward another inch, he presses a soft kiss to Face’s lips as he brings a thin sheet over to cover them both. “Just sleep for now; you’re home safe.”

Safe is relative, of course, out here at the FOB in the middle of a war zone. Home is relative too, but Hannibal knows that for Face, just as it is for him, home is anywhere the two of them are together.

Face’s breathing grows slower, deeper, but there is still a smile on his chapped lips. “Home,” he whispers. “You’ll stay?”

One final kiss, and Hannibal wraps his arm gently around his lover’s waist, careful of that scrape on his back, wary of his bandaged knee and all those bruises. “Of course I’ll stay,” he tells his boy, though he knows he won’t sleep. He’ll just be close, soaking up the presence of the man he loves, and keeping watch for any nightmares which might threaten his boy’s much-needed rest. He hates not knowing what to expect, not knowing what might have happened on the recent mission, but the only really important thing is that Face has come back safely.

A tiny sigh followed by a soft snore, telling him Face is already asleep, and Hannibal just smiles as he lets go of the last of his worry. He hates it every time Face takes a mission somewhere away from him, just as he knows Face spends every moment worrying about him when it’s Hannibal’s turn to take a separate job. If they both weren’t so good at what they do… A pointless thought, just as Hannibal knows it’s pointless to speculate about what Face has been doing. It was classified from the start, and it will continue to be classified. That’s the price they pay.

As long as they always come back to each other, Hannibal can live with that.


End file.
